Total Eclipse of the Heart
by Kathryn Sabourin
Summary: Mycroft and Greg have been trying to start a family for years. They have had three failed pregnancies, and are not sure if they can handle another one. If they can achieve their goal of creating their prefect family, will they be able to maintain it? Not mpreg. Mystrade angst, especially later chapters. (Formerly "All Hearts Are Broken," and "Caring Can Only Get You So Far")
1. Let's Have a Baby

**Hey lovies! So, this is something that I've been wanting to write for a while. It gets super angsty because I love Mystrade angst, and my best friend said that the only way she would read a Mystrade fic is if it isn't happy for Mycroft. This is a 5 part series: You'll get a new installation every day for the next five days. R&R!**

"Are you sure you want to try again, Myc? We could always just look into adoption. I'm sure that you could pull a few strings to get us listed as top preference."

"Gregory, I'm sure. We have a different donor this time around, and Lindsey's been more than marvelous. She's been here for us, and is willing to try again. She was just as devastated as we were last time."

The D.I. and his husband sat facing each other at their kitchen island. Breakfast was in front of them, and they were having the same conversation that they'd had dozens of times before. For the past two and a half years of their six year marriage, the couple had been trying to get pregnant. They'd used the same gestational carrier, Lindsey, a twenty-seven year old single mother of one.

Over the past two and a half years, she and her daughter Zoe had spent countless hours with the couple. Zoe, now four, had grown on them immensely, and they adored her. They would often joke that they were getting "parent training" from interacting with her.

Over the course of that time, the two men had had three failed pregnancies: twice the embryos failed to stick, and the third ended in a miscarriage three and a half weeks in. Lindsey blamed herself, but doctors assured them that there wasn't anything wrong with Lindsey or the sperms, but in the egg donors. They'd used a different donor each time, and were ready to give up when Anthea offered. Mycroft originally declined, saying that it would be inappropriate seeing as she was his employee. She persisted however, assuring him that she had made several donations in the past, each one resulting in a successful pregnancy.

"I just-I just don't want to have to go through _that _again," Greg said softly, looking down at his coffee.

Mycroft reached out across the marble counter and took his partner's hand in his. "I know, love," he said gently. "Nor do I. But I've spoken with the families Anthea for, and they've all had nothing but success. All of the pregnancies went according to plan, and they all have healthy, beautiful children. I think that we've finally found a match."

Greg sat back in his chair, and looked down, his eyes unfocused on the table. He sat like that for a minute, deep in thought. Finally, ruffling his hair as he spoke, he responded with an "Aright."

Getting up and bringing both plates to the sink, he paused. He put his hands on the edge of the sink, and hunched over it, his head bowed. When his shoulders started to shake, Mycroft took his cue to go over to him. The Holmes put his hand on the D.I.'s shoulder, who then turned to him. Wrapping his arms around his husband, Mycroft pulled Greg in and held him tight. He stroked Greg's back with one hand, the other his head in an attempt to comfort him.

"Sh, it's alright, love," he soothed. "I promise this time will be different."

The silver haired man finally stopped after another minute of sobbing, and his voice came out hoarse and ragged. "Myc, if this time doesn't work, I can't do it anymore. If we-if we lose the baby again, we have to stop trying."

Mycroft closed his eyes, a lump rising in his throat, knowing that the other man was right, but not wanting him to be. "I know, love. I know," he whispered.

_(One month later)_

Zoe was starting to get restless when Mycroft and Greg entered the room. She ran up to the D.I., who scooped her up and rested her on his hip.

"Hey, sorry we're late. The British Government over here got stuck in a meeting," he greeted Lindsey with. She smiled, with a "He was probably preventing some sort of international crisis," and both men pecked her on the cheek.

"And how are you, Zoe," he asked the little girl. The toddler giggled.

"Good Greggy," she responded. Zoe was the spitting image of her mother: Olive skinned, dirty blonde hair, and sparkling green eyes.

There was a knock on the door, and their OBGYN, Tabitha, entered. "Are you folks ready," she opened with. Greg put Zoe down in one of the chairs, and joined his husband's side next to Lindsey. When they'd first entered, she'd already been sitting on the exam table, propped up on her elbows; she now laid all the way back.

Tabitha squirted some of the USTG onto Lindsey's stomach, and gently rolled the probe around on it.

The four adults stared at the sonogram machine in anticipation. After slowly moving the probe all over, Tabitha brought the probe back over to a certain spot on the carrier's stomach, and let it stay there. A smile broke out onto her face as she pointed to the screen.

"That, gentlemen, right there, _that _is _your_ baby girl."

Lindsey beamed at them, and Greg let out the breath he'd been holding. He laid his head on Mycroft's shoulder, and the latter gently rested his head on Greg's.

"Finally," the D.I. whispered.

**Well, there ya'll go: The first installment. Keep tuned for tomorrow's installment! R&R!**


	2. Falling Slowly

**Hey ya'll! Here's Part Two as promised. R&R!**

Greg sat on the edge of Lindsey's hospital bed, holding her hand. "You were amazing," he said softly. "Absolutely brilliant. Thank you." She opened her arms, and he hugged her. His voice caught as he whispered in her ear, "I can't thank you enough." Lindsey smiled, and wiped the tear away from his eye.

"You two deserved it, Greg."

Mycroft, who had been holding their daughter next to the window, swiftly walked over to the bed, but was careful not to disturb the sleeping newborn. He sat on the same side as his husband, facing him. The Holmes carefully handed her off to Greg, who cradled her protectively in his arms.

"She has your eyes," Mycroft commented. The baby opened her eyes on that, widened them momentarily, and then crinkled her face at the sight of Greg. He laughed at her reaction. "And Anthea's attitude," the D.I. added.

Just then the door to the hospital room opened and Zoe came running in. "Mama!" she exclaimed.

"Hey sweetheart," the disheveled, tired blonde greeted her, and pulled her up onto the bed with her. "Thank you for bringing her, Mum."

Lindsey's mother, a very sweet woman in her late fifties, kissed her daughter on the cheek, congratulated the two men, and hugged her granddaughter goodbye.

"I should be off now. I'll come back in a few hours, okay Linds?"

After Annette left, Mycroft offered to take Zoe downstairs to the cafeteria. The four year old bounded out of the room, Mycroft right behind her.

"Have you two picked out a name yet," Lindsey asked Greg, who had moved to one of the chairs next to the bed.

"Destany Rose Holmes. My late little sister's name was Destany, Myc's mother's name is Rose, and because she's biologically mine, we thought that she should have his last name."

"It's beautiful," she responded. "I love it."

GL/MH/GL/MH

The sound of crying from the baby monitor woke Greg up. He groaned when he saw the time: 2:45 am.

"Are you going to get that," the lump next to him mumbled, still half asleep.

"Ugh," Greg groaned again. "You are _so _on diaper duty tomorrow," he threatened, but his husband was already back asleep. Grumbling, he got out of bed, managed to locate his dressing gown, and stumbled down the long hallway of the Holmes Ancestral Home to the nursery. Turning on the lamp on top of the dresser, he padded across the thick, plush, white carpet to the crib.

"Hey, baby girl. What's the matter?" he cooed as he picked Destany up. Greg cradled her, still bundled in a thick red blanket, and gently swayed while softly singing to her.

"I don't know you/But I want you/All the more for that. Words fall though me/And always fool me/And I can't react. And games that never amount/To more than they're meant/Will play themselves out."

Destany started to calm down, and hiccupped. She stayed quiet after that.

"Take that sinking boat/And point it home/We've still got time/Raise your hopeful voice/You have a choice/You'll make it now."

The infant watched her father intently, brown eyes opened wide. She tilted her head in curiosity to get a better look at Greg.

"Falling slowly/Eyes that know/And I can't go back/Moods that change me and erase me/And I'm painted black/You have suffered enough/And warred enough with yourself/It's time that you won."

Smiling wide now, Destany's eyes sparkled. Greg smiled back at her as he continued to sing. She yawned, and then started batting her eyelashes in an attempt to keep her eyes open.

"Take that sinking boat/And point it home/We've still got time/Raise your hopeful voice/You have a choice/You've made it now. Falling slowly/Sing your melody/I'll sing it loud."

As Greg finished, his daughter had finally closed her eyes again, and was fast asleep. Gently, so as not to disturb her, he placed her back in the crib. At three months old, she was starting to develop some physical features. She had the D.I.'s eyes, and an attitude that clearly matched Anthea's.

When the men had told Anthea that, Mycroft's assistant just laughed, and told them that it'd get worse. Greg already feared for the amount of snark and sass he was undoubtedly going to be subjected to as Destany grew older. He had never known someone could show sarcasm with just their eyes, but after about two weeks with Destany, he knew he was in trouble.

Her already long brown hair was sleep tousled and fell across her face as she slept. Greg gingerly pushed it off her face, and lightly placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Bonne nuit, mon amour. Faites de beaux rêves," he whispered as clicked off the lamp.

**Thanks for reading guys! Stay tuned for Part Three tomorrow! Don't forget to review!**

"**Bonne nuit, mon amour. Faites de beaux rêves: Good night, my love. Sweet dreams. "**

"**Falling Slowly," from the musical "Once."**


	3. What We Had

**SORRY, SORRY, SORRY, SORRY. I know, but writing lab reports is hard, and Supernatural season 8 came out on Netflix, so I had to sort out my priorities. R&R!**

"_Sherl," _John called sternly, and could be heard through the door.

"What?" the genius asked indignantly. "I told them to come in."

"Sherlock, they're wrangling an almost five year old, a four month old, and God knows whatever luggage the kids need. They probably haven't seen their hands since leaving Sussex."

Mycroft and Greg looked at each other and smiled. Sherlock, although possessing an intellect rivaling that of Steven Hawking, was ever oblivious to the needs of anyone other than himself, John, and Mrs. Hudson.

"You know, any time would be great now," the D.I. called through the door. From inside the flat, there was a shuffling of papers, bickering in hushed voices, and the sound of hissing, which could have only been voiced by Sherlock. John opened the door, looking slightly disheveled.

"Hi-sorry about that." He opened the door wider, allowing the family to enter the flat. "Sorry about the mess. I tried to kid-proof as much as possible, but _this one _over here," he said, gesturing to his husband sulking on the couch, "Started a new experiment out of spite."

"It's nothing personal, Brother. I just fail to see why I have to put _my _life on hold for your visits," Sherlock retorted dully.

"It's fine, John. Thank you," Greg exasperated. He tossed their two bags onto the nearby chair, one a diaper bag for Reinette, and one full of toys and books to entertain Destany.

"Here, let me take her off you," John offered. Mycroft passed the red-headed infant to the doctor and she smiled when she saw him. Destany ran over to her other uncle, and couldn't contain her excitement.

"Uncle Sherlock," she exclaimed. Although he had a hard, indifferent, and even cruel façade put up against the rest of the world, the detective's exterior melted around his nieces. He genuinely enjoyed interacting with the girls, and Destany had certainly started to prove that she possessed the Holmesian level of intellect. He could entertain her for hours. Although she was only four months old, the newest addition to his brother's family, Reinette, was mesmerized by Sherlock as well.

"Daddy and I have been reading Robert Frost," the four year old stated. Her uncle looked up at his brother, eyebrow raised.

"Really?"

"Stop looking at me like that, Brother. It's not as if I'm forcing her to sit down and read it. Gregory and I had started reading her to sleep with him, and she has since expressed an interest in reading him even more."

"I think that's wonderful, Mycroft," John piped. "It's excellent to get them into that sort of literature at such a young age."

Sherlock remained quiet, his eyes steely, and leaned back on the couch. Sensing his unease, Greg stepped in.

"Uh, Dest, why don't we go pay Mrs. Hudson a visit downstairs, yeah? John?"

Catching on to what the D.I. was doing, John hurriedly agreed. "Yeah, that sounds great. She hasn't met the baby yet, right? Destany, she hasn't seen you in a while either."

Greg grabbed Destany's hand, and the two men quickly exited the flat, leaving the brothers alone to talk. Mycroft sighed, moved the bags off the chair, and sat facing Sherlock. His tone changed from annoyed to what could only be described as caring when he asked, "Sherlock, what is it?"

The younger Holmes turned his head to face his brother, pain in his eyes. Mycroft closed his own and nodded in understanding.

"Sherlock, I swore to myself that I would never let myself become Father. We are not forcing these things onto our children, we are allowing them access should they want it. I never want them to have our childhood, Brother."

"Mummy never wanted it either," Sherlock whispered. "And yet she did nothing to stop _him._"

Mycroft inhaled deeply, and then let it out. "I can assure you that Gregory would not be as passive as Mummy was. He would not just stand by and let it happen to the girls. What we had, they will never experience. Letting Destany read Robert Frost is not going to end with her cutting herself, or doing drugs to make a point," he added coolly.

"At least I _tried _to make a point, Brother _dearest. _You just went along with, always the perfect child. He always loved you best," the raven haired Holmes spit back.

Mycroft jumped on his brother's last sentence so fast he nearly cut him off. "Anaximander Holmes never felt any love for anyone but himself. His children were objects to be shown off, and his wife a pet to follow him everywhere doting on his every move. His death received sympathy from no one; he was and is not missed. We both know that. Now, I would appreciate it immensely if you stopped commenting on my parenting skills, comparing me_ that_ man."

There was a hesitant knock on the door, and the Holmes' stared at each other for another minute, Mycroft fierce, Sherlock defiant. Mycroft eventually sighed, and calmly responded "Come in." His eldest daughter ran in, followed by Greg, John, and Reinette, and jumped in his lap. He whispered something into her ear, Destany's brow creased in confusion, but she nodded anyway. Climbing down off of him, she instead went to her uncle on the couch. Mycroft rose to his feet, and went over into the kitchen where the other two men and baby were, and spoke softly so that Sherlock couldn't hear. They nodded in response to what he was saying, albeit unconvincingly on Greg's part. The Holmes kissed his husband goodbye before exiting the flat.

"Daddy's got to go to work," Destany stated matter of factly. Sherlock nodded, even though he knew very well that was not true.

"So, what did you two talk about?" Greg asked, he and John entering the living room. He sat in the chair previously occupied by his partner, and John joined Sherlock on the couch.

"Lestrade, if Mycroft ever tries to get them to read Machiavelli, take the girls and run."


	4. All for Pride

**So, I decided to be really progressive tonight, and give ya'll ANOTHER chapter. R&R!**

**_August_**

Mycroft quietly closed the door, and sighed when he saw his husband waiting up for him. "Gregory," he started, but was cut off.

"Third time, Myc. Third. Time. This. Week."

"I am aware, Gregory," the red head responded warily. "The office has been extremely busy, what with the economy in Greece a disaster, and upcoming elections in Uganda to prepare for."

The D.I. stood in front of the Holmes, keeping his distance by several feet. His arms were crossed, and his eyes were steely. "I don't give a bloody shit, Myc. You could've at least given me a fucking heads up. Even hearing it from Anthea would've sufficed. Christ, Myc. Me aside, you have a six and two year old who need you. When was the last time you even talked to Destany? Or saw Reinette? They need you just as much as I do!"

Mycroft stood there, leaning on his umbrella, head bowed while Greg shouted at him. He let his husband finish, before responding calmly and quietly, "They are sleeping, Gregory. Please keep your voice down."

Greg stared at him, dumbfounded. "Are you fucking kidding me, Myc? That's all you have to fucking say? Do you even care anymore?"

The Holmes looked up so quickly with fierceness in his eyes that made his husband take a step back. "There is _nothing _I would not do for them. For this family. Do not tell that I don't care. Everything that I do I do for this-"

"That's bullshit and you know it! Those girls haven't seen you in days, Mycroft. Looking me in the eye and tell me that that's helping them."

Mycroft slowly raised his head and stared the D.I. in the eye.

"Unbelievable. You are fucking unbelievable." Greg ended the fight there. "I'm going to bed. I have to go in early tomorrow and deal with the mess your brother made with Anderson." He avoided making eye contact with his partner, and turned to go upstairs.

"I'll be up soon," Mycroft almost whispered.

Not stopping, Greg responded coldly with "No."

Mycroft stood there for a moment, slowly hung his umbrella up, and made his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a shot of scotch as he heard the bedroom door close and lock.

**_October_**

Greg rolled over and groggily sat up when he felt the bed shift. "Myc?" he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Go back to sleep, love. There's an emergency at work."

The D.I. looked at the clock on his bedside table; 1:27 am. "Jesus, Myc, again? Don't you think that they can deal without you for a few more hours?"

"I'm sorry, Gregory. I really do have to go in now." Mycroft turned away from his husband, and began to dress.

The room remained silent except for the sounds of Mycroft getting ready. Greg sat there, watching his husband, who continued to ignore him.

"Myc," the D.I. hesitantly started. "Myc, I feel like we never see each other anymore."

The Holmes didn't respond, continuing to dress.

"And, I just feel like we're not talking anymore. I'm really worried that we we're becoming really distant."

"Gregory, we're fine."

Taken about by Mycroft's bluntness, Greg remained quiet for another minute, before trying again. "Myc, when was the last time we spent time together as a family? Or even just the two of us? You come in so late, and then have to leave before the sun's even risen again."

"I'm sorry, Gregory, but I really have to leave. We can talk about this later."

"No, Myc, you can't just-" he was cut off by an abrupt and rough kiss on the cheek before his husband swiftly exited the room. "I'll be home late tonight," was all he got.

"Mycroft!" Greg jumped out of the bed and followed him out into the hallway. "Mycroft, we need to _talk!_ You can't just keep running away from this."

All he received was silence, until a bedroom room door at the end of the hall opened slowly, and out emerged a sleepy six year old.

"Père? What's going on?"

Walking down to her door, he led Destany back inside. "Nothing, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."

**_December_**

"Père, look!" His daughter excitedly announced as she showed her father a painting in a book of Renoir works.

"Hmm. Interesting. Do you like that one?"

"It's my favorite," Destany responded with joy in her voice. The D.I. smiled to himself as he entertained Reinette on the floor of the living room. His eldest daughter had taken an exceedingly deep interest in art, and Greg was willing to oblige her with books on various artists.

All three Holmes' and Lestrades' looked up when the door opened, with a snow covered Mycroft entering.

"Daddy," the six year old called, and ran to greet him. He smiled, and picked her up, tossing his jacket and umbrella on the chair.

"Ugh, Mycroft. You can't just leave them there. They're soaking," Greg chastised him. The D.I. was annoyed, and wasn't hiding it.

"Sorry, love. I'll get it."

"No, no, just-leave it. You have her, and you already got the chair wet. I'll deal with it." He got up, and went to grab the offending outerwear.

"Honestly, Gregory. I am perfectly capable of putting them away-"

"_Myc_, I _got it."_

"Gregory-"

"Seriously Mycroft, I can handle it!" He took the umbrella and jacket off the couch, and aggressively threw them onto the coat rack. "Honestly, what is it with you Holmes' and your bizarre power complex? If I say that I can do something, I can do it!" Greg's words were biting as he stormed out of the room.

Destany looked from Mycroft, to the direction that Greg had just stormed off in, and back, trying to understand what had just happened.

**_February _**

The two men worked in silence as the prepared lunch for their family. They wordlessly worked in and around each other, avoiding eye contact.

Destany strolled into the kitchen, and observed them for a moment. "Daddy, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, darling. What is it?" He knelt so as to be eye level with her.

"Why are you and Père sleeping in different bedrooms? Are you two in a fight?"

The Holmes blinked a few times, and the D.I. stopped what he was doing.

"Well, Père and I are sleeping in different bedrooms because we need our own space for a while. Sometimes you like to be away by yourself, correct?"

She nodded.

"Well, we just need to be by ourselves for a bit."

Greg didn't add anything, but noted how Mycroft managed to maneuver around the second question. Destany didn't seem to want to accept that answer as the whole truth, but let it go, seeing how Greg was looking at Mycroft.

Waiting until she left the room again, Greg turned back to the sandwich he was making, and tried to comment on what just happened. "Mycroft-"

"Don't. Please don't, Gregory. It's fine. We're fine."

"How can you say that, Mycroft? Especially after what just happened. We sleep in different rooms. We don't touch each other anymore. Good God, when was the last time we had sex? We're not fine, Mycroft. We haven't been in a while. If we want to salvage whatever we may have left, we need help."

The genius put down the butter knife he was using. "Absolutely not. We are not going to some _shrink_ to fix something that is fine."

Greg's voice out of frustration. "Mycroft! You _need _to stop telling yourself that! If we don't try to fix this, fix _us, _we are not going to work out together."

"Twelve years, Gregory. Twelve years of marriage, sixteen together total. That's not going to just disappear."

"Look around you, Mycroft. It's been disappearing for the past seven months. One fight after the next after the next. Nothing is getting resolved. If we don't try to fix this, this hole we've dug ourselves into is only going deepen until neither of us can get out."

Mycroft didn't respond, even though he knew his husband's words were correct.

They worked in silence for another two minutes before Mycroft tried to respond. He tried to take Greg's hand, but the D.I. quickly jerked it away, in a force of habit. "Please, don't touch me," he hissed. The Holmes quickly pulled his own hand back. This had been a regular occurrence over the past few months: Every time Mycroft to touch him, Greg would pull away.

"Myc," he said, much softer now. "If you won't agree to get help, I'm going to leave."

Mycroft stood silent for several minutes. Greg returned to lunch preparations, while his husband stood there thinking. He finally responded in a whisper so low Greg barely caught what he was said, but was chilled when he heard the response, "I can't."

The air in the room immediately turned cold, and the D.I. slowly but precisely put down the knife he was using. Carrying the plate with a sandwich for Destany, he silently exited the room.

Mycroft put his head in his hands, and rested his elbows against the counter for support. His chest felt like it was about to concave. He knew that once he'd said those words, there'd be no turning back. He knew what was at stake, what he was giving up. All he was willing to sacrifice for his pride.

His breath shuddered out as he heaved a sob.

**So, um, you know how I said there would be major Mystrade angst? Well….there you go. I'm going to try to get the last chapter up tomorrow, but Supernatural premiers tomorrow night, so I may not be able to. Reviews, please!**


	5. Epilogue: Ten Years Later

**Hey lovies! Here's the last chapter as promised. R&R!**

Greg kissed Reinette goodbye as Mycroft got out of his car, is youngest running to get in it. The twelve year old was ready to get out of the city, and spend the weekend in the country. Destany, on the other hand, hung back, putting off saying goodbye to her silver-haired father. Mycroft stood by the car, waiting for her to be ready. The D.I. pulled her aside, and spoke quietly to her. She nodded, and got in the car, not looking at her other father.

Before he could join the girls, his ex-husband called his name. "Mycroft, can I talk to you for a minute?"

The Holmes walked over to Greg, concern apparent in his eyes. The two men only ever really talked to each other when something was going on with the girls.

"Is everything alright?"

Greg crossed his arms, and looked at the ground before looking up at the Holmes. "Destany's been struggling at school. She's constantly talking back to her teachers, and refuses to do the work because it's, and I quote, 'Dull.' This has never been a problem for her before. I spoke with her teachers, and they say that she is taking advanced college level classes in Independent Study. I don't understand what's going on with her."

"Gregory, she is sixteen and related to my brother. She's going to act out now and again."

The D.I. avoided eye contact with Mycroft, and hesitated before responding.

"Well, um, it's been going on for about three and a half months."

Mycroft closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and pointer finger. "Gregory, this has been going for almost four months, and you failed to tell me?"

"Gee, I'm sorry Mr. British Government. I'd assumed that you had your spies on her as much as you have them on the rest of us."

"Gregory, do you really think that I have spies on all of you?"

"Do you?"

The Holmes looked back at the car for a moment before answering in a low, pleading voice. "Yes, but only when you're at the work. As soon as you enter your flat they stop. The girls are watched 24/7, but I only have them on you when you're working. I swear, Gregory. No personal boundaries are overstepped."

Greg scoffed, and stared at the side walk. "Yeah, okay, Mycroft." He turned to go back inside, but Mycroft grabbed his arm.

"Please, Gregory, listen. It's only to ensure your safety at the Yard and on a case. They only alert me if you're in possible danger. I _swear, _that's all."

The D.I. pulled away, but didn't move. "Why do you even, Myc?" he whispered. Mycroft blinked a few times; Greg hadn't called him Myc since before the divorce. "Why do I still matter that much to you? We've both moved on."

"We spent almost seventeen years together, Gregory," he answered in an equally quiet tone. "Seventeen years don't just disappear. We had two beautiful, brilliant, amazing children together. You may have moved on, but I never said that I have."

"Oh, really? Wasn't the one who wanted the divorce, Mycroft. If my memory serves me correctly, that was _you! You_ turned into the Ice Man, Myc!_" _As Greg's temper rose, did his voice. They had been trying to avoid arguing in front of the girls, but when Greg got worked up, it was hard for him to control is noise level.

Mycroft response was cool and calculated, but the words flew off his tongue like fire. "I never _wanted _the divorce, Gregory. I thought that it would be best for us. We weren't happy, and I couldn't do the things that you so clearly needed from me. Yes, I made the choice, but no, I didn't want or like it. Now, I would appreciate it if you could keep your voice down so that the girls can't hear you. I will speak with Destany about school, and try to figure out a solution that she will agree upon. Thank you for alerting me, I will do what I can. "

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Greg tried to cool himself down. He gave a curt nod when his ex-husband finished, and turned to go back into the building. "Monday's a holiday, they can stay till then. I need them back that night, though," he added, before, entering, the door swinging shut behind him.

When the door shit behind him, Greg leaned against it and pulled out his mobile.

_Hey, fancy a pint tonight?_

John responded a few minutes later with an affirmative.

As Mycroft walked back to the car, he pulled his own mobile out of his suit jacket pocket.

_I just spoke with Gregory. _

His brother response came almost right away: _I'll catch the train out to Sussex tonight._

**Well, there it is! Thank you guys so much for all the support that I've received! Please review! Also, if you like my Mystrade, let me know. I want to write more for this particular ship, but I am fairly new at it. Thanks again for reading!**


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